Tracks
by Sadie Flood
Summary: Mandy considers the reason for her abrupt departure. Songfic. Leo/Mandy. AU, probably.


Title: Tracks  
Author: Sadie Flood (sadieflood666@yahoo.com)  
Rating: G  
Pairing: Leo/Mandy  
Spoilers: Everything after season 1, I guess.  
Disclaimer: Clearly, they aren't mine. Neither is "Changed the Locks," by Lucinda Williams.  
Author's Note: I missed a good portion of season 1, so if I got any facts wrong, please let me know. :)

_I changed the lock on my front door so you can't see me anymore  
and you can't come inside my house  
and you can't lie down on my couch  
I changed the lock on my front door_

"She left because of Josh."   
  
It echoed through my head the night I drove away and it's remained a persistent whisper since then, a nasty little rumor that would mean nothing to me if it weren't so untrue. I guess it doesn't matter what anyone thinks. I know the real reason. Josh knows it wasn't because of him, though he'll enjoy the attention he gets when that idea is spread around. And the one who destroyed me, inasmuch as I can be destroyed, which is to say not completely and only temporarily, knows that he was the one who said goodbye and I'm the one who left. 

_I changed the number on my phone so you can't call me up at home  
and you can't say those things to me   
that make me fall down on my knees  
I changed the number on my phone_

I had never considered him, frankly. I hadn't considered anybody since the new job started. Consideration was dangerous and would only lead to a flirtation period which would be pleasant at first and then, once consummated, terribly unpleasant for me and the other party involved. In my experience, it's best not to pay any sort of romantic attention to anyone you have to see every day in a non-romantic context. I was determined not to let that happen again.  
  
I had always felt like a transient in life, in love, in my career. I used a name that I didn't consider my own, a silly nickname endowed upon a sister by a baby just learning to talk. It wasn't really me. I was just passing through. I showed up on time, I did what was asked of me and I was the best, and when it was time to leave I usually got going before they could ask me nicely, except when I didn't see it coming, or when it happened too fast. Passing from one job to another was easy; a connection made here, an offer cultivated there. Passing from one man to another was usually easy, too, as long as I never looked back. That's why it was awkward to work with Josh, and it's why I vowed never to get myself into that situation again.  
  
Besides, he was older; he had baggage; he was my superior; he and Josh were friendly; he hadn't finished dealing with the departure of his wife, and he probably never would. Of course, I guess I couldn't have been expected to know that last one, in the beginning.   
  
It was innocent. A late night. An unexpected encounter. He, being a gentleman, asked me if I wanted dinner, and I, being no lady, invited him home. It was the culmination of a day during which virtually everyone I encountered seemed to despise me, some of them for good reason, others merely by association with those who had the good reasons. Here was someone who, despite my faults and my failings, was being nice to me, and how could I resist the temptation to spend more time with him and flatter my broken ego some more?

_I changed the kind of car I drive so you can't see me when I go by  
and you can't chase me up the street  
and you can't knock me off of my feet  
I changed the kind of car I drive_

He said Jenny, and I said Josh, and then we both laughed at the absurdity of allowing ourselves to be constrained by the imaginary demands of those whose fascinations with us had long since passed. Afterward, one or the other would stumble home down dark streets, battered and bloodied, to dress the wounds and prepare for daylight.  
  
It became a habit. 

_I changed the kind of clothes I wear so you can't see me anywhere  
and you can't spot me in a crowd  
and you can't call my name out loud  
I changed the kind of clothes I wear_

Though it would be a natural assumption, neither of us drank in each other's company, he out of respect for a past about which I still know virtually nothing, and I because I wanted to be in control. I didn't want to say later, "This would not have happened if I hadn't been drinking." I wanted to say, "This happened because I wanted it to happen."  
  
This happened because I wanted it to happen.

_I changed the tracks underneath the train so you can't find me again  
and you can't trace my path  
and you can't hear my laugh  
I changed the tracks underneath the train_

More than anything, what occurred between us was inarguably an accident; whether it was of the catastrophic wrecking variety or the happy serendipitous variety I can't yet determine, even with the distance I've put between then and now. Certainly, I loved. I love. It's what I loved about him that disturbed me. A man with a dark secret, a grudge in his heart, and hands that were rough rather than tender--what does it say about me that when I miss him, these qualities are what I miss most? That's part of why I had to leave. I didn't want to know. I still don't.

_I changed the name of this town so you can't follow me down  
and you can't touch me like before  
and you can't make me want you more  
I changed the name of this town_

She called him home, and he let me down easy. It was simple. It wasn't unexpected. It shouldn't hurt. Mostly it doesn't.   
  
My depature was a useless dramatic gesture, staged for an audience who wasn't listening anyway. I packed everything into my amorphous, pedestrian sedan and left in the middle of the night, no longer battered or bloodied but inexplicably still wounded.  
  
So now I don't think about him, here in my new life, my new city, my new home. I don't think about the way he called me by my real name. I don't think about that catch in his voice when he woke me to say goodbye. I don't think about why he left one night and never stepped through my door again. I don't think about missing him, and I don't think about seeing him again. If he wanted to find me, he could. He knows it. I know it.   
  
I certainly don't think about that. 

_I changed the lock on my front door  
I changed the number on my phone  
I changed the kind of car I drive  
I changed the kind of clothes I wear  
I changed the tracks underneath the train  
I changed the name of this town_


End file.
